


Eucharist

by mypoisonedvine



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: (implied) - Freeform, Age Difference, F/M, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Sex in a confession booth, kinda breeding kink???, kinda subby steve but not really but a little bit?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-08
Updated: 2021-02-08
Packaged: 2021-03-14 10:34:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,665
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29294496
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mypoisonedvine/pseuds/mypoisonedvine
Summary: anybody can get a boy into bed, it’s not very hard if you have low standards (which you, historically, have), but it takes a special kind of woman to seduce a man of the cloth.  the question is, while you’re tempting him away from a life of holiness, can he convince you to change your ways as well?
Relationships: Steve Rogers/Reader
Comments: 2
Kudos: 50





	Eucharist

**Author's Note:**

> I apologize in advance.

As you waited on your knees at the altar, elbows resting on the mahogany bar, fingers interlaced in prayer, Father Steven approached you with the chalice in hand. You looked up at him as he pressed the gold to your lips, tilting the cup until bitter wine poured over your tongue. With his half-lidded gaze meeting yours, you really hoped he was thinking about the same thing you were thinking about. You hoped his cock was filling underneath his robes at the memory of you on your knees just like this, of him guiding you to taste just like this, except it wasn’t anything like this— that was sacrilege, this was holy. 

Why, then, did _that_ feel more like worship than this did?

You felt a drop of the wine gather at your bottom lip, and you saw his hand twitch as if he was about to wipe it away with his thumb. You wished he could, but knowing it would be conspicuous, you darted your tongue out to lick it up yourself.

He had to move on to the next person, offer them the blood of Christ, keep up appearances as Mass continued, but for the moment that your eyes met, it felt like he would stay forever and you were the only two people in the world. You wished your gaze was enough to capture him and hold him in place so he’d never leave you again, but it wasn’t, and he stepped away as you stood up and made a path back to your seat.

_Three months earlier…_

“Would you read this verse for us?” the nun asked you with a smile.

“But I say unto you,” you read aloud, following the words on the page with the tip of your fingernail, “that whosoever looks on a woman to lust after her has committed adultery with her already in his heart.”

With a glance at Father Steven, you found it interesting that he was looking away from you. You smiled to yourself; it was already beginning.

The church has been running a program like this for ‘troubled girls’ (as they called it) for quite a few years. You were one of the newer additions, and you’d been doing a pretty good job of pretending to be reformed while managing to sneak out for the occasional blunt or a quickie with one of the local boys in the forest. That said, whenever you did, you were always thinking about somebody else— somebody who stayed inside the walls of the church at night.

Of course, everyone was aware that Father Steven was incredibly attractive; only a blind person wouldn’t notice, and even then they’d be just as susceptible to his sexy, deep voice reciting prayers in a way that felt damn-near pornographic. Surely, taking communion from his hand made every girl here wish that it wasn’t just Christ’s body she could get a taste of.

But, those girls didn’t have the determination that you did. They fantasized, gossiped, but never acted on it. You, meanwhile, were already in Phase II of your ultimate plan to seduce him. 

Phase I had gone pretty smoothly; you’d spent a little too much time in his office, under the false pretense of needing his counsel, only to chat him up and learn everything you needed to know. Showing an interest in his work was the key thing, you’d found, as he loved to talk with you about future homily ideas or verses he’d been studying. He was hesitant to discuss his childhood or any life he’d had before priesthood, and you wondered if he had a wild side then that he tried to forget. Probably not, but it was nice to imagine anyways.

Phase II was going to kick it up a notch, for sure. It started simple enough with those occasional glances at him from across hallways or during services. You made sure to pay close attention in Mass every Sunday and Thursday as if his homilies were the most fascinating thing you’d ever heard. Except today, when you let him notice you staring off into space, chewing your nails, playing with the hem of your skirt. 

Then you avoided him all day. Normally you’d end up bumping into him in the halls of the church whether you were trying to or not, but today you spent as much time in your room as possible, hoping he was somewhere out there wondering where you’d run off to. You even skipped lunch, telling one of your fellow inmates (oh, sorry, ‘sisters’) to tell the other you weren’t feeling well so no one would come looking for you. Considering you even sat with him at lunch sometimes, you were banking on this really shaking him up.

At last, evening came and you knew Father Steven, being the studious man that he was, would still be in his office even though most every other member of the clergy would’ve retired to their quarters by now (or driven home since most of them didn’t actually live on campus). Taking a path that had you least likely to be seen, you made your way there and knocked at his cracked-open his door.

He greeted you as he looked up from the papers on his desk, and you loved hearing the way he said your name. He stood up to welcome you, an unnecessary formality, and you almost smiled at the way he rubbed his hand on your arm. It was almost _too_ easy with this guy, at times. He was smart, but a little too trusting.

“Father,” you greeted in return with a smile, “I’m glad you’re still here.”

“How are you? You seemed distracted in Mass this morning,” he noted with a solemn frown. “Is everything alright?”

You suppressed your smile at the knowledge that he’d been watching you just like you wanted him to. “Um…” you trailed off.

“Come in and let’s talk, alright?” he offered, ushering you into his office.

You nodded gently and followed him, taking a seat across from him on one of his comfy loveseats. A fitting name for them considering one potential use you’d come up with for the furniture.

“What’s troubling you, child?” he asked softly. That pet name certainly sent a conflicted sort of shiver up your spine.

“I shouldn’t bother you with it,” you dismissed.

“I’d love to help if I can,” he pressed.

“I guess I just… I should thank you, first, for allowing me to stay here,” you began, motioning around as you referred to the sacred walls surrounding you. “The church has been too kind to me.”

“Kind, yes, but not at all too kind,” he corrected. “You’re a beloved daughter of Christ and we try to treat you as such.”

“I guess that’s sort of the problem,” you explained nervously, shifting on the couch and looking to the ground. “Sometimes I feel… sometimes I question if that’s really true.”

“You’ve made excellent progress; you’re the best student in our program and you’ve taken to the strictures quickly,” he asserted in an attempt to comfort you. “You recite your prayers, you memorize your verses; and I hear from Sister Mary Annunciata that you’ve taken to Latin quickly as well.”

The praise made you blush a bit, even now. “I’m glad to hear she said that, but I’m afraid that there’s more to being a good Catholic than high marks in Latin class.”

“That’s true,” he relented. “Study is a vital aspect of faith, but so is laity, and piety, among many others. What aspect is it that you’re struggling with, then?”

“Um,” you stalled, “in a word? Chastity.”

He nodded slowly. “Ah.”

“It’s not always easy,” you explained. “I miss a lot of the old habits I had before the church took me in. I know it’s wrong but I find myself… craving the very things that set me on such a bad path.”

“I understand,” he announced curtly.

“No, I don’t think you do,” you replied sheepishly. “I’ve lived a much more… adventurous life than you, Father. Maybe it’s easier to resist what you haven’t experienced.”

“We all suffer from temptation.”

“Even priests?” you asked with a raised eyebrow of curiosity.

He chuckled a little. “Yes, even priests.”

“How old were you when you went off to seminary?” you pressed, hoping your honesty would draw forth an openness from him.

“Eighteen. I knew this was what I wanted all my life,” he answered confidently.

You breathed out with surprise. "That must have been hard.”

“What makes you say that?”

“I just mean, I know when I was that age…” you trailed off, slowly crossing your legs. “I can’t imagine staying chaste through that.”

“I’m sure you can’t,” he swallowed.

“And now I feel almost the same way as I did then— it’s like the more I try to resist my desire, the stronger it becomes. Have you ever felt that way?”

His jaw tightened as he answered. “I can’t say that I have." 

"Really? It must be so lonely,” you sighed, “doing what you do. I mean, at least I can hug or kiss or cuddle and keep my promise to God but you… you aren’t just missing out on sex but _intimacy_. Has anybody ever touched you kindly? With affection? Have you ever felt a warm body pressed against yours— or even seen a woman in her indecency, the way she was created?”

You leaned forward a bit, letting your fingers brush over his knee and feeling him jump slightly yet fail to push you away.

“I think you’d make a great husband, so kind and smart and handsome. And I pictured you as the sort of guy who wanted a wife and a family. It’s honestly hard to imagine you being alone forever; no one to care for, and no one to take care of you.”

“I’m fulfilled by my work— and I take pride in caring for wayward young women such as yourself.”

“So you do care for me?”

“Of course.”

“And who cares for you? You deserve somebody to be tender with you, to serve you— to love you. And not just emotionally, but physically." Your touch trailed up his thigh, higher and higher as his breathing picked up and you felt him shudder. "It isn’t an abomination, Father, it isn’t a disgrace. It’s God’s most sacred, most holy creation. You’d understand if you’d ever done it; even when it’s wrong, it feels so _right_ …”

“Don’t,” he whispered, your hand stopping just before it got somewhere interesting.

“Why not?” you asked coyly. “Is it because you don’t want me to? Or because you know that you shouldn’t want me to?”

“Just… don’t,” he swallowed instead of answering.

You lifted your hand and leaned back, giving him some reprieve; funny enough, he didn’t look that relieved after all.

“You’re a good man, Father, and I respect your integrity. But just tell me this: did you ever think of me… that way?”

He looked away, nostrils flaring as you got up off the couch, approaching his chair only to kneel down before it. 

“Did you ever think of me,” you continued, “in a way you shouldn’t? Did you ever think of me laying beneath you, open arms and open legs, spread wide for you to do with as you please, begging for you to take me?”

His fists clenched as he refused to look at you, until you rested your head on his knee with batted eyelashes and pouted lips.

“Please, Father,” you whispered.

You were on the ground before you’d even realized what happened, your cheek stinging from where he’d slapped you. You moaned instantly, laughing lowly as you sat up.

“Fuck, hit me again, it makes me so wet,” you purred.

“Get out,” he growled. “Get out!”

You stood up on wobbly knees and walked back to the door, shooting him a smile as he watched you with a furious stare.

“I’ll see you again, Father,” you promised as you licked your lips, “and I’ll get the answers to my questions.”

Even for all your alleged confidence before, when you heard a knock at your door that night, you didn’t really expect to see him standing there.

“Father,” you greeted with a quiet gasp, but he was already on you, wrapping his arms around you, pulling you into a bruising kiss, pushing you against the wall; claiming you.

You felt so many years of repression breaking with every movement of his lips against yours, like he’d been waiting his whole life for this. And of course, that was literally true in one sense, but it was more than that. It felt like after all this time, it had to be you to break him… or maybe it was that he was broken all this time, and it had to be you that put him back together.

You knew he wanted more; he didn’t come here to make out. It was always going to be all or nothing with him. Pulling back from the kiss to look him in the eyes, you whispered your instruction: “ask and you shall receive, Father.”

He took a breath to steady himself before he replied, staring back at you with his blue eyes so much darker than before. “Touch me, please.”

You smiled as you reached down and rubbed your hand over the front of his trousers, finding his cock hard and waiting underneath. He moaned at the same time you did, quiet but undeniable. His head fell back as he started to buck up into your palm already; his eagerness just made it even hotter as you watched his face twist in shameful pleasure. It was definitely big, that much was obvious, and you bit your lip as you felt the ridge just under the head of his cock against your thumb.

He made no motion to stop you as you began to work at his belt, trying not to move too fast but also desperate for more. Reaching into his opened fly, you navigated his underwear and sighed contentedly as you wrapped your hand around his cock, feeling how thick and long it was. It looked even bigger than it felt as you pulled it out; not only that but it looked truly delicious with precum gathering at the tip like that.

“I can’t believe you were going to let a perfect cock like this go to waste,” you smiled.

He was looking down at you now, staring at the way you dragged your hand slowly up and down his length, some gentle sort of shock painting his expression. You weren’t gripping him too hard yet, realizing he was probably sensitive from not having experienced much stimulation before. That suspicion was confirmed with the way he jerked into your touch as you swiped your thumb over his slit, using the moisture you found there to ease your movements.

“Did you ever do this to yourself?” you asked with a smirk.

“We’re not permitted to,” he answered quickly.

“That’s not what I asked,” you frowned. “Have you ever stroked your cock, Father Steven?”

He swallowed, his adam’s apple bobbing up and down that perfect neck of his, before finally nodding as you grinned widely.

“When?” you asked, expecting to hear a story about when he was a teenager, knowing it was wrong but unable to help himself.

“Last week,” he answered instead. You laughed a bit, but then got serious.

“Really? What brought that on?”

“Of course it was you,” he scoffed. You didn’t think that was obvious like he seemed to, but you did think it was the greatest thing you’d ever heard. 

“Did you make yourself come?” you asked, voice getting a little deeper. You raised your brows in shock as he shook his head. Maybe his innocence was so severe that he hadn’t figured out how to do it right… that thought made you clench your thighs together for a moment. 

“I wanted to,” he explained, “but I stopped.”

“You have a lot more restraint than I do,” you laughed, “but that’s obvious, isn’t it? That’s why I ended up here, and you ended up a priest. Except, of course, that now you’re here begging me to get you off.”

His cheeks flushed, in fact his whole face did, but his cock flexed in your grip.

“Tell me how it feels,” you requested darkly. “Tell me how it feels to have your ward— your _charity_ — touch your cock.”

He shivered. “It… depends.”

“Depends on what?”

“Depends on where you’re asking about. In my soul, in my heart it feels… awful. But on my… on my cock it feels… _so_ good,” he finally stammered out his answer. “Y-your hands are so much softer than mine…”

“I know, and they’re a lot more experienced. I can make you feel so much better than this. I can make you feel better than you’ve ever felt before.”

He tensed up a bit, that anger from before just starting to creep back in. “Sounds like the sort of promises the Devil would make.”

“The difference between the Devil and me is that I keep my promises,” you smirked, already slipping off your jacket to unbutton your blouse. He swallowed nervously as he watched you, seeming like he had to fight the instinct to look away as you unclasped your bra and tossed it to the ground. “Will you touch me now?“

His lip twitched as his eyes darted back and forth from your face to your breasts. "I… don’t know how.”

You reached out to grab his hands, holding them gently and guiding them to your chest. He gasped quietly as his palms made contact with your skin, and you reveled in the warm, calloused grasp of his hands. “Just like that,” you sighed, “touch me more, please.”

His thumbs brushed over your nipples and you jumped a little bit, in the best possible way. There was something so jarring about how his touch felt so mature, yet his movements were shrouded in the same innocence usually reserved for much younger men. You couldn’t wait to destroy that innocence, and with the way he licked his lips and started to move his touch lower, it didn’t seem like it was going to take much more. His fingers stopped at where your skirt rested on your hips, even when you hopped up on the table behind you, spreading your legs for him.

“It’s okay,” you soothed, “you can reach under it. I want you to touch me there.”

He shivered a little but nodded, sliding his fingers underneath the hem of your skirt and gasping when he met the edge of your panties.

“Help me take them off,” you requested quietly, smiling when he reached up to the top and began to pull down, you lifting your hips to let them slide down your thighs and fall to the ground around your shiny black shoes. He pushed your skirt up, with excruciatingly slowness just as much as sacred reverence, the fabric tickling your sensitive skin until finally he sighed at the sight of your glistening, swollen pussy waiting between your thighs.

“Oh,” he whispered. Shivers shot up your spine just from him looking at you like that, and they only got more intense as his touch brushed over the front of your mound. Sensing his hesitation you reached forward and gently grabbed his wrist.

He gasped as you guided his finger through your folds, and you didn’t have to exaggerate your moans very much to put on a show for him. “Your fingers feel good, too, Father. I like that they’re rough, and thick… yes, just like that,” you encouraged, letting go of his wrist and allowing him to explore for himself. He spread your lips, which made your face warm from feeling so exposed, exploring everywhere he could find and watching the way your body reacted. You didn’t expect him to push two fingers into you of his own accord, but that’s what he did anyways, making you gasp and arch your back.

“Wow,” he breathed. “You’re so sensitive…”

You clutched at the table beneath you tightly. “It’s just 'cause of you,” you explained with a little smile, wrapping your legs around him to run your feet up the back of his thighs. “It’s 'cause you turn me on so much.”

He smiled a little. “I promise you that you cannot even imagine what you do to me.”

“I can see it,” you grinned, leaning forward to grab his cock again, precum starting to drip and run down his shaft now, “I can feel what I do to you.”

The thrusts of his fingers inside you almost matched up with the way you stroked him, but there was no way you’d let him get by with just a proxy like this, just loopholes and areas of plausible deniability. You needed everything from him and you fully intended on taking it— better yet, you intended on pushing him until he gave it all to you willingly.

“I know it’ll feel so good inside me,” you whispered. “Can you feel how wet I am for you?”

He nodded breathlessly, those crystal blue eyes darker than usual.

“Can you feel how warm it is inside?” you pressed, letting your voice get a little huskier. He hissed but nodded again, shuddering when your inner walls clenched around his fingers. Sitting up, you kissed him again, coaxing his hesitant tongue forward and letting go of his cock. His hips pushed forward to try to chase your touch, but you just smiled and started to slowly undress him. His little white paper collar popped off like it was nothing, and you tossed it aside before moving on to the black buttons of his shirt. Even with all your fantasizing, you could never have imagined how toned and muscular his body would be. The fact that he’d been covering this body up with loose-fitting robes was a travesty, truly. “Father,” you gasped approvingly, running your fingers over his strong chest, heaving in front of you with each of his shaky breaths. _The body really is a temple_ , you realized, _and I’ve prepared an offering for the altar alright_.

He slipped his hands under one of your legs, lifting it so he could gently remove your shoes, tossing them aside before rolling your white knee-high socks down your legs. You were confident that nobody had ever undressed you with this much care before, this much delicacy and tenderness, and it made your heart twist inside your chest. With gentle kisses up from your ankle, to your knee, to your thighs, he shocked you by diving in between your thighs hungrily. You whined and grabbed his hair, pulling as his warm tongue navigated your folds until it found the spot that made you moan and quiver the most. 

You would’ve been disappointed when he stopped, except that he immediately tore your skirt straight down the middle and threw it away thoughtlessly, kissing up over your stomach and chest before finally meeting your lips again.

“If we do this,” he whispered into the kiss, “there’s nobody else. Just us.”

“Of course,” you agreed quickly, “only you.”

“I need you to tell me that you love me,” he sighed, pulling back to look at your face closely, running his thumb over your cheek. “I need to know that you really love me.”

“I love you, Father,” you answered, finding more honesty in your words than you expected. “I love you, Steven,” you repeated, a little softer, staring up into his eyes and finding a storm of emotions brewing there. “Truly. Deeply.”

He shivered before he replied, like his words were at war with his tongue. “I love you too,” he whispered. “I’m in love with you.”

When he kissed you again, you wrapped your legs around his hips and your arms around his neck, letting him pick you up and carry you to your bed, laying you down and only leaving you for a moment to shed the last of his clothes. With his body slotting between your legs and his arms resting beside your head and caging you in, you felt helpless to him in the most addictive way. No conquest had ever taken you so long, but you knew it was going to be worth the wait.

He hesitated a bit as he pressed his cock against you, and you realized he would need a little more encouragement. 

“Please, Father,” you whispered, so quiet that it was just barely below your breath, “make me yours. Put it in me. I belong to you. Make love to me, Father.”

He pushed his hips forward, and the breath punched out of your lungs all at once. 

“Oh, god,” you moaned, your head falling back as his intrusion slid deeper into you, filling you so entirely that it made your head spin and your vision a little blurry. Maybe it was just because you’d been waiting for him so long, or because you were sure you’d never been wetter, but he barely had to move to press against every delicate spot inside you. 

He let out a strained breath as he pulled back only to push in again, moving with much more patience than you expected from a man who had waited so long. When he pressed his hips into yours, burying himself as deep in you as he could reach, you choked a bit and reached up to grab onto the back of his neck tightly; it was almost too deep, almost too intense, but you breathed slowly to cope with it.

Afraid he’d think he hurt you, you looked up at him to watch his brow furrow where sweat began to gather on it. “Don’t stop, please,” you requested softly, “I want more.”

He pulled back and set a pace of slow but deep thrusts, his heavy breathing starting to shift into quiet moans. “It’s tight,” he hissed, “ _you’re_ tight, and so warm…”

You smiled as you pulled him down to kiss you again, moaning as you felt more confidence in the way his tongue dominated yours easily. You’d always known there was a hunger underneath the wholesome facade, and you were finally starting to sink your teeth into it. “You feel so good inside me,” you moaned softly, “it feels so perfect. It feels so… _right_ , doesn’t it?”

“Yes,” he admitted through his teeth, fucking you a little harder. “Feels like… like you were made for me.”

“I was,” you agreed, “I am. All yours. Only yours.”

A little growl echoed in his chest, the angle of his hips changing a bit and sending the head of his cock slamming straight into your g-spot. You couldn’t help but cry out, your walls gripping onto him in response. He seemed surprised and did it again, causing you to bite down on your lip to keep from moaning so loud that someone down the hall might hear. He smiled and leaned down to place a kiss just beside your ear, whispering to you sweetly. “Is that it?” he asked softly. “Is that how I’m supposed to do it, to make you come undone for me?”

“Yes, right there,” you sobbed, “don’t stop, Father, I’m already so close…”

He groaned as he began to thrust deep into you, hitting your spot every time until you felt burning pleasure sear right through your body and make your toes curl. “You know I won’t last long,” he grunted, “but I want you to finish first.”

“I will, if you don’t stop,” you promised weakly.

You could feel that he was holding himself back from coming, from the way his cock was flexing and swelling against your walls. Already falling over the edge, your back arching dramatically as the coil in your gut snapped and bright white heat burned behind your eyes, you cried out his name one last time before the sound of his moans of release filled your ears. You could feel his orgasm warm you from the inside out, pulsing within you as his thrusts faltered, until he quickly slipped his arms into you to pull you into him and fall back onto the bed. 

He caught his breath as you laid yourself on his chest, sighing deeply. 

Looking up at his face, you expected to find dawning terror or guilt there as he realized what he’d done, but he was just looking back at you. His expression was softer than maybe you’d ever seen it, and honestly it was a little odd to see him without his uniform— not just naked, specifically, but without the black shirt and white collar or decorative robes.

You opened your mouth to speak but your words were lost as he brushed a stray lock of hair out of your face with his fingers, before trailing his touch down your cheek and over your jaw.

You must have fallen asleep soon after that, because you woke up the next morning to an empty bed; you could almost still feel his warmth beside you. You could even smell him on your pillow and on your skin— incense, rosemary, and something sort of like spearmint but sweeter. His clothes were gone from your floor, and instead of a torn skirt laying in the middle of the room, you found a new one folded on your dresser for you.

//

The big mahogany door had a golden plate on it, engraved with _FR. STEVEN ROGERS_ just above a little sign that indicated he was inside and available. You smiled, knocking quickly before opening it and peeking your head inside.

“Father?” you greeted. 

“What is it?” he asked innocently, looking up at you and setting his reading glasses aside as he stood up from his chair.

“Could you help me translate this verse? I’m struggling with the Latin,” you explained sheepishly.

“Of course,” he agreed, beckoning you inside and not-so-subtly shutting the door behind you. He stood behind you and caged your body in with his as he read over your shoulder. “Read it for me?”

“ _Pulchra es amica mea_ ,” you read aloud, “ _suavis et decora sicut Hierusalem, terribilis ut castrorum acies ordinata. Averte oculos tuos a me quis avolare fecerunt._ ”

He smiled a little. “It’s easy, really.” He cleared his throat a little before he began: “Thou art beautiful, my love,” he translated slowly, “comely and sweet as Jerusalem, terrible as an army poised to attack. Avert thine eyes—” he paused for a moment, his voice a bit lower when he continued— “for they… overcome me.”

You swallowed dryly, basking in the warmth of his body just behind yours.

“It’s from Song of Solomon,” he informed you. “I feel like I’ve learned more about that book in the past month than from years of seminary and decades of personal study.” 

His soft chuckle was light at first, but fell into a dark silence. You shivered as his touch trailed lightly along your arm, his lips leaving a faint kiss on the back of your head. 

“It’s so strange,” he whispered, “to feel desire without resistance. My first instinct is still to fight it, but we’re alone now…. and I don’t have to fight it anymore.”

He spun you around quickly, making you giggle a little as you set your Latin Bible aside and let him pull you into a kiss. His lips slotted against yours so naturally now that you’d think he’d been kissing all his life, rather than only having had his first kiss a few weeks ago, with you in your room that fateful night. Everything had changed since then; he was slowly but surely becoming a romantic, and it was undeniable that the ways of Hell had overtaken this man with the way he’d turned out to be a demon in the sack. You, on the other hand, could barely recognize yourself with the way you thought of him constantly, fantasized about him— and not just him now, but a lifetime with him, as impossible as that was. He wasn’t just a notch on your bedpost anymore; no, you’d thought you were hunting him for the love of the game, but you fell for the player in the end. And who could blame you? You’d never been treated so well by a lover— or by anyone, really. After all, a life of being cared for probably wouldn’t have led you to needing to live at a church, right? 

And Steven was, as always, very willing to take care of you. He just did so more thoroughly than he used to.

“I have to go,” he explained breathlessly as he sucked harshly on your neck. “There’s a service in less than an hour…”

“Don’t go,” you whined, pulling him closer and holding him tight, whimpering as his hands grabbed your ass through your skirt.

“I have to,” he repeated, but noticeably didn’t stop. “I’m supposed to do confessional.”

“Let someone else do it,” you suggested, “stay and make love to me.”

“I can’t,” he asserted, “I can’t.” And, as much as it killed you a bit, you understood when he shoved you back and stepped away. He looked almost as desperate as you felt; a small comfort, if nothing else. “You’ll need to straighten yourself out and make an appearance as well,” he reminded you with a stern look as he quickly fixed his hair.

“Of course, Father,” you nodded, feeling a bit like you were being scolded and finding some twisted joy in it.

Leaving his office, you took some time to freshen up before evening Mass, although you didn’t plan on being in the pews very long— no, you were heading straight for confession.

“Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned,” you whispered solemnly as you entered the confession chamber, sitting on the wooden bench as the door sliding shut behind you plunged you into darkness.

Father Steven whispered your name in question and you laughed a little.

“Yes, it’s me,” you answered. 

“I’ve missed you terribly,” he informed you quickly.

“It’s hardly been an hour,” you reminded him, though your cheeks were warming at the thought of him so hung up on you.

You heard him shift on the other side of the wood, and you could just barely catch a glimpse of his profile through the latticed screen separating the two compartments. “You consume my every thought,” he informed you. “I can’t think straight, I can hardly sleep or eat anymore.”

It wasn’t so much that you chose to put your hand between your legs, but more like you just realized that it was there of its own accord, stroking over the outside of your panties and making you shiver. Lewd as it was, your prayer rosary was still in your hand and it made the cross tickle the back of your legs as it swung about.

“I can tell what you’re doing,” he hissed. “I can hear your breathing, I know you’re pleasuring yourself.”

You whimpered a bit, about to pull your hand away, but as if he read your mind, he interrupted quickly.

“Don’t stop,” he instructed you, still speaking softly and yet with a dominating, stern tone. You moaned a little, rubbing yourself with more vigor and hearing the shift of fabric from beside you.

“Will you touch yourself too?” you asked nervously.

“I don’t think I can stop myself,” he explained, voice sounding strained but heavy with arousal. You bit your lip as you imagined his thick hand on that perfect cock, stroking himself with you. “You’re better at this than I am,” he admitted.

Glancing over to the screen again, you licked your lips and leaned in closer. “Then let me do it for you,” you offered. “Open the partition, let me touch you, Father.”

You heard him stand up, and you dropped to your knees before you could even think about it. All he had to do was slide open the screen and there was a convenient little rectangular hole, big enough for his cock and balls to fit through— and frankly not much extra room, with how thick he was. You quickly took it between your lips before you even touched it with your hand. He didn’t seem to mind your eagerness, moaning softly as you slid lower and lower, his swollen head bumping into the back of your throat and coating it with his precum.

You weren’t used to having this much control— normally he would’ve grabbed your hair by now, or even your neck or jaw— but with the wall in the way he was forced to stay still and let you do whatever you wanted with him. You liked the power you had over him in that moment.

You reached up and wrapped your hand around him to stroke the length you couldn’t reach. However, you’d forgotten to set your rosary down first, its beads draping between your fingers and down your palm. At first you feared it would hurt him, but he moaned instead as the beads rolled along his shaft.

“Fuck, baby, that feels so good,” he hissed.

A rhythm started to form as you took his cock deeper, ignoring the way your jaw became sore from being stretched open so wide, and you kept a light but steady grip on his cock with your palm and rosary. His moans were just loud enough to hear through the wall, and so lovely that you found yourself rubbing your pussy against the floor of the booth, searching for friction and sadly not finding very much. You weren’t good enough with your left hand to get yourself off anyways, so you figured it would go to better use cupping his balls as you continued to suck him.

“S-stop,” he stammered, “I can't… I can’t come in your mouth.”

“Yes you can,” you corrected encouragingly as you pulled off of him (but continued stroking, if slowly).

"No, it's— it has to be inside.”

Your eyes went wide as you realized he was referring to the Catholic aversion to birth control or otherwise pregnancy avoidance. Pulling out, using condoms, letting you swallow it: it was all considered birth control and therefore a sin.

Of course, the irony of this was obvious, and you giggled a little. “Father, we’re sort of past that, don’t you think?”

“Oral is permitted,” he clarified, “just not to completion.”

“Yes, but I feel like when the Vatican made such an allowance, they weren’t including their priests in that, or encounters during confession.”

You heard the waver in his voice, you knew he hated being reminded of the wrongness of this. At least, he pretended to hate it— but his cock was harder than ever, too. “Please,” he begged softly, “just let me go and we’ll finish this later.”

You tutted disapprovingly, smiling to yourself. Your hand was still wrapped tightly around his cock and he wasn’t going _anywhere_ until you were satisfied. “Not so fast, baby, I’m not done yet.”

“Please,” he repeated, even weaker, but you ignored him as you teased his slit with the tip of your tongue.

“I wanna taste you,” you explained, licking a thick stripe all the way up from his balls to his tip, laughing when you felt his cock flex against your grip. “I wanna taste your come.”

“Stop now, and I’ll let you taste what spills out next time,” he offered, a desperate compromise.

“You’ll _let me_?” you repeated mockingly. “Oh, Father, you’re so cute thinking you get to decide these sorts of things for yourself. I know what’s good for you. Just relax and let me make you feel good.”

His moan was broken and high-pitched as you sunk his cock all the way into the back of your throat, gagging around him but staying steady until you absolutely needed to breathe again. He groaned as you pulled back, giving yourself a break by lathing his balls with your tongue— while twisting your hand around the sensitive head of his cock, of course. “Baby, please,” he whimpered needily.

“Come for me, Father, let me taste it,” you begged hoarsely one last time before wrapping your lips around his head and stroking the rest with both hands. Just a few seconds of that pushed him over the edge, his hips bucking against the wooden divider between you and his cock flexing and pulsing in your grasp. His taste flooded your mouth, thick and musky and absolutely perfect, until your eyes fluttered shut and you hummed with satisfaction and glee. You kept sucking, gently, until you were sure every drop was on your tongue (and secretly loving the way his little sobs sounded so wrecked from the overstimulation).

You pulled off of him with a grin as you swallowed it all down, finally letting go of his cock which quickly retreated back to his side of the confession booth. 

“Thank you, Father,” you whispered before standing up and wiping your mouth, hearing the screen slide shut behind you as you stepped out of the booth. Walking back to the service, you did your best to hide your smile and the need panging between your thighs.

You would’ve been tempted to skip the service and take care of yourself, but you got the idea that Father Steven was going to come back for you soon.

//

He said nothing, silently fuming, as he stormed into your room that night, slamming the door and shoving you onto the bed as he tore at your clothes.

“Father!” you cried in protest.

“Early Christians believed pain was the only way to atone for sins,” he began to explain; his voice almost sounded the way it did when he gave a homily, except a lot deeper and rougher. “As recent as a hundred years ago, priests were prescribing self-flagellation as a method of repentance.”

Your panties were torn and tossed aside, and he held your legs down with his as he hastily pulled his cock from his trousers.

“I think what I’m going to do to you is pretty generous by comparison,” he decided with a sigh before roughly shoving his cock into you. You choked on your scream, biting down on your pillow to cope with the pain. He was big enough that without any preparation it felt like he would split you in half.

“Fuck,” you winced, “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, Father.”

“Too late for that,” he shook his head.

With your face shoved into your pillow, your sobs of ecstasy were muffled and the sound that filled your ears was his heavy breathing and grunting, and the slapping of skin on skin. You could hear how wet you were for him, and it was almost enough to make you feel a little shame. But that was gone when he roughly manhandled you to be on your elbows and knees, his body wrapping around yours as he fucked you just as hard but so much deeper, deep enough that you started to see stars.

His arm snaked around your neck to hold you up, almost tight enough to choke you, as he leaned down and growled right against your ear. “Tell me your sins,” he groaned. “Tell me what you did to deserve this.”

“I— I swallowed your seed,” you remembered with a whimper, “and forced myself on you, when you asked me to stop.”

“Anything else?”

“Impure thoughts,” you continued, “lust, premarital sex— and one time in high school I did anal.”

“Fuck,” he grunted, the first time you’d ever heard him swear, “you’re worse off than I thought.”

His thrusts were so fast and brutal that you thought your insides might go numb— and the knowledge that he could probably last a long while after already coming earlier today made your head spin. You were so done for; it was so worth it.

Already well on your way to your first orgasm, you heard him hiss as your walls clenched around him. “I forgot how good it feels,” he whispered, “to make you come. Will you come for me?”

“Yes, Father,” you sobbed.

It was too far along to stop now as his body rocked yours back and forth, pleasure making your gut sink and your eyes roll back into your head. Tears rolled down your cheeks as he pushed you to your limits and well past them, your toes curling and fingers clawing at the sheets when he continued his assault on your swollen, sensitive walls. “Good girl, just like that,” he praised, “now do it again."

He sat back up and let your face fall to the bed limply, holding your hips tightly and pulling them back to spear you onto him with each thrust. You weren’t sure you could come again because you still hadn’t exactly stopped coming the first time. But, if anything could do it, it would certainly be the thought of bruises in the shape of his fingerprints being left on your skin from this. 

"I’ll need to come inside you twice to make up for that little stunt you pulled in confession,” he informed you coldly. “I’m gonna fill you to the brim, until every drop of my come is in you.”

“Don’t threaten me with a good time,” you hoarsely laughed between the moans being forced out of your body.

“That’s what you want?” he questioned, and if you didn’t know any better you’d think he was taunting you; you nodded in reply. He responded, of all things, by spanking you hard enough to make you yelp and clench down around him. “You’re shameless, huh?”

“Seems like it,” you answered breathlessly.

He laughed and lifted you up until your back was flush with his chest. At this angle, he was forced to slow down his thrusts, and yet you felt like you were being stretched even wider somehow. “You won’t make a very good Catholic, then,” he mumbled against your ear.

“I already knew that,” you agreed, although the last of your sentence morphed into a whine as he reached around your body to begin rubbing your clit.

“Is that it?” he asked innocently, in spite of everything. “Is this where you touch yourself?”

“Yes,” you hissed.

“No, this can’t be right, you’re not screaming yet,” he noted, reaching a little further down and finding an even more sensitive place— so sensitive that your whole body jolted and you bit down on your lip. “ _That’s_ it,” he grinned, adding more pressure and rubbing in quick circles as your thighs began to quiver. 

“Too much,” you gasped, reaching down to try to push his hand away, “I can’t take it—”

“You can take it,” he disagreed, “just a little more, I’m almost there… and then we’re halfway done.”

You cried and bucked against him, overwhelmed and unable to discern any individual sensations anymore: pain, pleasure, fear, desire, it was all one big ball of fire in your chest about to explode. “Please come,” you begged through the overwhelming, heavy weight of your body falling apart beneath him.

“I will, I’m gonna,” he promised, his thrusts picking up a bit and finally starting to stutter. He breathed through his bared teeth as he came, and you could feel the base of his cock stretching your entrance wide with every pump of his come filling you.

Just before you fell, he caught you and flipped you onto your back, taking a quick breath as he used the head of his cock to gather the come that had started to drip out of you. He hissed as he pushed back in, fucking his come back into you— slower and with more intimate passion than you expected. Lowering himself over you, he held you close and set a steady pace, both of you moaning gently when he seated himself all the way inside. 

You felt pins and needles on all your extremities as you tried to cope with another orgasm creeping its way up your spine. Your back arching only made it easier for him to suck a hardened nipple between his lips, the shocks of pleasure shooting straight down to your core each time his tongue tickled the bud.

The passage of time was one of many senses lost to you after that; you couldn’t think about anything except him, you couldn’t be anything except his, you couldn’t process anything except his body against yours. 

The only thing that pulled you back into reality was his words in your ear, your name on his lips, as he promised to fill you up again. You weren’t sure there was any room left, but you nodded sleepily as he pumped faster and more erratically.

You were too numb now to feel the pulsing of his cock, but you definitely noticed the warmth starting in your channel but somehow spreading to cover all of you.

He sighed as he pulled out with one last kiss, collapsing beside you, his heavy breathing the only thing you could hear as he cooled off. “What are we gonna do when I get pregnant?” you asked suddenly, but he didn’t seem fazed by the question.

“Children are always a gift,” he answered between pants; it sounded like the sort of thing he said a lot, but it also sounded like he meant it.

“But they’re going to question how it happened while I was living under the care of the church. It doesn’t look good for me. It doesn’t look good for you, either.”

He took a slow breath before he responded. “I know. We should have a plan for that, and yet… I find myself too distracted for anything logical. I’m entirely preoccupied with you. I had given up on finding love and having a family so long ago… and now, the idea of you pregnant, round and heavy with my child, _our_ child…” he trailed off as he pulled you closer, spooning you and breathing against your neck until you shuddered. “What have you done to me?” he asked with a soft little laugh.

“Just found what was already lurking just below the surface,” you shrugged.

“I can’t help but feel guilty, still,” he admitted. “I feel like I dishonored you by taking you in such a way before marriage. You deserve love like this from a husband.”

Just hearing him say ‘husband’ made you smile so wide. You two were always introducing each other to things you never knew you needed.

“I want you to be my husband, Steven,” you sighed, turning back to face him but finding the look in his eyes overwhelming and glancing down to his chest instead. “And I know you love your work—”

“But I love you more,” he interrupted, guiding your face up to look at him with a finger under your chin. “I’d leave it all for you, you know that, right?”

You nodded gently. 

“I want you to be my wife,” he whispered. 

“What’s stopping us?” you asked, hesitant to push it that far but unable to stop yourself.

His eyes darted from your eyes to your lips and back a few times, while you took a moment to admire the way his hair had become all fucked up with little strands falling down over his sweat-slicked forehead. “We’ll have to go to another city if we have any hope of finding a priest who would marry us,” he finally announced, breaking the silence. “One who doesn’t know that I used to be one, too.”

You beamed, hardly believing what you were hearing. “So you’ll do it, then? We’re really… are we really going to do this?”

“I hope so,” he laughed softly. “You’d really promise to devote yourself to me, entirely? For life?”

“Of course,” you assured, resting your hand on his cheek, “I’ve never loved anyone else, Father.”

“You won’t be able to call me that anymore,” he noted.

You ran your tongue over your teeth, grin shifting into a smirk. “How about Daddy instead?”


End file.
